


raise a glass to freedom (something they can never take away)

by procellous



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Gen, Implied or Ambiguous Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6423403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procellous/pseuds/procellous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander knew the face that stared across the smoke-filled street and two centuries. </p>
<p>There were a thousand and one answers he could have given, and not one of them would even come close to answering the question. </p>
<p>(Or, the CA:tWS AU nobody knew they needed)</p>
            </blockquote>





	raise a glass to freedom (something they can never take away)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Magpied_Spider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpied_Spider/gifts).



> alex would be so annoyed to find out about mount rushmore

Alexander Hamilton, perhaps better known as Captain America (“I was a Major General, not a Captain!” Alexander had protested when he learned of the title, to no avail) was not having a good day. Not at all.

Though, to be fair, he hadn’t been having “good days” for quite a while. Since waking up in the twenty-first century and discovering Thomas Jefferson’s head was carved, sixty feet tall, onto the side of a mountain, his days have nearly all been bad. Or at the very least, colored by the knowledge and subsequent annoyance that Thomas Jefferson’s already giant head was carved out of a mountainside, and _apparently_ it was “unprofessional” to vandalize a “national monument.” It wasn’t vandalism, it was airing grievances, and protesting Thomas Jefferson’s ugly face being carved permanently into a mountain.

Honestly, Americans these days. Sure, there were good things, like finding out that America was still an independent nation after two centuries, and that slavery had been abolished, and there was free public education for all, even if it wasn’t great and failed to educate the masses in much beyond basic literacy—still, the public education system was a good thing.

There were good things in the future, and there were some frankly awful things. Like the fact that he was being shot at right now.

Alexander ran across the street, towards the masked man. The Winter Soldier glanced at him and abandoned his weird futuristic rifle in favor of throwing an armored punch. Alexander raised his shield just in time for the impact to hit the center of the shield and reverberate through his skeleton. He pushed against the punch and was kicked in the chest for his trouble.

He landed hard against the street. The Winter Soldier shot at him with yet another gun, and how many of those did he have? Alexander curled up behind his shield while the bullets ricocheted off. The Winter Soldier must have run out of ammunition because he stopped shooting and rolled back, off the horseless carriage. Alexander knew an opportunity when he saw one, and ran forward.

The Winter Soldier had another gun, of course he did, and shot through a horseless carriage at Alexander. He paused for a moment to check his gun, and Alexander seized the moment. He vaulted over the horseless carriage and kicked the gun out of the Winter Soldier’s hand. Unfortunately, it did absolutely nothing, the Winter Soldier had another.

Alexander tried to get close to the Winter Soldier and hopefully disarm him again, but wasn’t prepared for the Winter Soldier to pull a move that would make Angelica proud: in smooth movements too fast for Alexander to process what had happened, the Winter Soldier had grabbed the edge of Alexander’s shield, twisted, and ended up with Alexander’s shield on the Winter Soldier’s arm.

Alexander threw a few punches, but met only the shield’s cold metal. It only took a single shove from the Winter Soldier for Alexander to go tumbling backwards.

The Winter Soldier threw the shield, and it embedded itself in a horseless carriage. Alexander ran forward while the Winter Soldier pulled out a knife. This, at least, was somewhat familiar territory, from his childhood years of getting into tavern brawls. (And his adulthood years of getting into tavern brawls.) He caught the knife swings with his arm, trying not to get stabbed and wishing he had a knife as well. They were evenly matched, and the fight was a stalemate until Alexander kicked the Winter Soldier in the gut and sent him flying back into a horseless carriage. From there the fight devolved into an all out brawl. Alexander knocked the Winter Soldier down, the Winter Soldier sprang back up and grabbed Alexander by the throat and pulled him close. If Alexander wasn’t trying to conserve air, he would make a clever quip.

The Winter Soldier threw him back and he tumbled over a horseless carriage and caught his breath. The metal arm had an inhumanly strong grip and Alexander wasn’t sure if it was armored, or if the future could replace flesh and blood arms with metal arms.

The sound of crunching metal brought him back to reality. Horseless carriages crumbled under the force of a metal fist. His attacker was coming closer, he didn’t have much time—

He rolled away from the punch that would have crushed his skull, and thanked God that the Winter Soldier had lost his weapons. Bullets were faster now, and both more deadly and more accurate. The Winter Soldier hadn’t just woken up from a two-century long nap, and used modern weapons, like absurdly fast guns and terrifying other weapons that Alexander couldn’t even name beyond “probably a gun of some kind.”

They traded blows for a while, or rather, the Winter Soldier attempted to punch him and Alexander attempted to not get punched.

The Winter Soldier pulled a knife out of somewhere or other, and slammed Alexander against a horseless carriage with his metal arm. The knife skittered across the side of the carriage, and Alexander twisted and slid beneath the Soldier’s arm and grabbed him around the middle. Thanking God for getting into far too many brawls as a child, he fell backwards, throwing the much heavier Soldier against the street.

Alexander grabbed his shield out of the side of a horseless carriage and slid his arm into the straps, just in time, because the Winter Soldier was coming fast, with a punch aimed at Alexander’s face. He raised the shield, catching the blow. Alexander ducked under a swipe of a knife, catching it on the edge of his shield. The Soldier tossed the knife into his armored hand, and punched Alexander with the other. Alexander stumbled back, cheek stinging. The soldier came back for another strike and Alexander caught his wrist and jammed the edge of his shield into the metal shoulder. The Soldier slipped his grasp, but Alexander reacted fast and grabbed him by the face. He used every ounce of his enhanced strength and threw the Soldier.

He went flying, crashing into the street. His mask came off, and as he stood up, the Soldier’s face was revealed.

Alexander had already seen the blond hair and blue eyes, but with the mask gone, he recognized more: the soft jaw, the rounded cheeks, the spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Older, more care-worn, and with new scars, but Alexander knew the face that stared across the smoke-filled street and two centuries.

“Laurens?” He heard his voice, but didn’t remember speaking.

“Who the hell is Laurens?” Oh, that was Laurens’s voice, it was unmistakable. The voice that called out in both his nightmares and daydreams. But hearing that voice filled with such…such a void of emotion jarred Alexander. He had heard Laurens throughout the entire spectrum of emotions, through glory and despair, triumph and defeat; he had heard John's voice high with fervor and low with sorrow. Yet never, not once in all their days together, had Alexander heard such flat confusion. It sounded as though a perfect stranger had walked up to Laurens on the street and declared the sky to be green.

John had looked straight at him, looked him in the eyes, and did not know him, when Alexander knew every freckle on his cheek. 

From there, everything was a blur. Someone had wrapped their arms around Alexander’s shoulders and led him away, someone had gotten him into his small apartment.

“Alexander? Are…are you okay? Did the Soldier hurt you?”

Alexander wanted to laugh. Nothing could possibly hurt worse than seeing John’s face devoid of recognition.

“Alexander?!” Oh, he must be actually laughing.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice rough. “I…I have so much work to do.”

_“Who the hell is Laurens?”_ John’s voice echoed in Alexander’s mind. There were a thousand and one answers Alexander could have given, and none of them would even come close to answering the question.

Alexander sat at his desk, feeling far older than his years. The locked box that sat on the desk seemed to mock him.

He opened it and took out a very old letter, the ink fading and paper crumbling in his fingers.

The contents of the letter didn’t matter so much as the closing, tonight.

_You know the unalterable sentiments of your affectionate Laurens.  
_

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry. 
> 
> (no i'm not)


End file.
